Topic: Jim Africa's Tall Stories

Jim Africa

Date: 2005-11-29 02:42 EST
THE STORY OF THE SICK GORILLA

As told to Charna and Quel one night in the Inn
by Jim Africa

I was hired to be a guide for one of those old folks excursions. You know the kind - a senior citizen special. It was meant to give them that opportunity to do something that they always wanted to do in their lives but could never manage when they were younger. It was a tour of the "Dark Continent", a chance to visit the land of Tarzan, to stand when Johnny Weismuller stood. Yes, it was to be a dream come true. I tell you, I thought half of them were going to die on me the first day out! Never again will I do that kind of safari. Never!

There was one old couple on the tour by the names of Charles and Esther Finklestein. They were the most lovely couple you would ever want to meet. They were sweet as can be, but Charles was blind as a bat, and Esther couldn't hear a fog horn if it blasted two feet from her nose. They had come on the trip to enjoy Africa and live a lifelong dream.

It was unfortunate that the tour arrived in my camp at the time I was nursing a sick gorilla back to health. I kept him locked in a cage, and figured he was safe enough from being molested by all the old folks. I especially had to protect him from the grandmothers who wanted to overfeed him with too many bananas. They would keep telling him, "C'mon young man, eat like a good boy." To be witness to such a spectacle of mothering was humiliating for me, if not for the gorilla.

It was early in the safari and in the middle of the night when Charles needed to use the latrine. Evidently his kidneys or prostate, one or the other, were no longer working very well. He got up in the middle of the night and began to walk toward the latrine, but as I had mentioned, he couldn't see worth a damn.

Ol' Charles went to the gorilla cage thinking it was the latrine, and instead of opening the latrine door, he opened the door of the gorilla's cage. Evidently Charles thought he was pulling the latrine door closed behind him when he was actually opening the cage door. While he was standing there in a corner and trying to get his plumbing working, the gorilla bypasses him and slips out through the open door. Can't say I blame the gorilla very much. If Charles came into my tent I would have made a dash out of there pretty fast too!

Now you've got to understand, the gorilla is no fool. He remembered who was feeding him the bananas. While Charles is out peeing in the gorilla's cage, the gorilla goes into Charles' tent looking for his banana benefactor. Esther didn't have any bananas left in her tent and that was most unfortunate. The gorilla crawled up on the bed next to her and began to handle her, looking for any stray bananas that she might have on her person. Okay, so the gorilla wasn't an Einstein, but he was persistent.

Remember, Esther can barely hear a blessed thing. The gorilla is grunting and breathing on her neck and groping over her body, and all she can say is, "Charles, turn over and go to sleep. This is hardly the time or place."

Well, along about that time Charles returns from his "latrine duty." He just crawled back into the bed but noticed that he suddenly didn't have as much room in the bed as he did when he got up. He incorrectly surmised that Esther is getting amorous. You can guess what happened. Charles figured that being on Tarzan's home turf had put the libido back into Esther, and he began to put the once famous Finkelstein moves on my poor gorilla!

I think that the only thing that gave Charles the clue that something was wrong was the gorilla's breath! Gorilla breath is one thing you don't ever want to get close to. The screams that pierced the darkness that night would have made your blood curdle!

I reach for my rifle and flew out of my tent half naked. There, before me, was a parade coming out of the other tent -- first Esther, then Charles, then my gorilla! I don't know which of the three were more frightened. My first thought was that these old folks are pretty damn kinky!!

Well, it took me two hours to get the gorilla back in his cage. It took me another two hours to calm down Charles and Esther and by then the sun was coming up. The damnedest thing is, I think Esther bonded to my gorilla! The next morning she goes up to him, "Oh you poor dear...what did Charlie do to you?"

The senior citizens went on to Cape Horn, South Africa the following day, but I was left with a gorilla who now had post traumatic stress syndrome, and who needed months of counseling.

The end.

- - - -

Jim Africa

Date: 2006-01-30 02:30 EST
The Story of The Boston Socialite

As told to Charna, Keaton and Hanzo one night in the Inn
by Jim Africa

Never before had a client arrived on safari with two hired men and a case of Remy Martin. Call it a sixth sense or just call it experience, but I knew as soon as I saw her that I would be earning every cent I was getting paid for this trip.

She was a socialite from Boston. In show business. A diva of delightful diversion. A dark-haired dancer who decided she needed some time away from her husband, and what was more socially "in" these days than an authentic African safari. She must have bought out the local Banana Republic in preparation for her 'mental health vacation' as she called it.

Every day of the safari she would complain about the heat, the bright sunlight, the bugs, the humidity, the uncomfortable ride, the lack of paved highways, you name it.

"My skin is drying out."
"This humidity is ruining my hair."
"Isn't there an Atrium around here?"
"My clothes are getting coated in dust!"

I put up with it, but only for one reason. Every night when the sun was set, and the sounds of the jungle would fill your senses, and the stars would begin to splash themselves across a black velvet sky, she would slink toward the campfire with a bottle of cognac in one hand, two glasses in the other, and purr in her deepest, most seductive voice, "Hey, Jungle Man, join me for a drink?"

That was all it would take. A few words from that beautiful voice and I would forget all that I had put up with during the day. Each night we would finish off a bottle of cognac while she would tell me all about her life in Boston. I listened to her unfulfilled sex life, her unromantic marriage, her fascinating life within the public eye -- I swear I heard everything there was to hear about her "complicated" life.

I would sit there with a pipe in my hand and give her my undivided attention, and enjoy the slow release of the tensions of the day as the brandy worked its soothing therapy. Then we would say goodnight, and I would watch her wiggle that tight skirt perfectly as she headed first for the latrine, and then to her tent. That was our ritual for the first 10 days of the scheduled 13-day safari. It was almost a religious experience.

On the evening of the 11th day our camp was a bit more rustic than usual. My porters didn't have time to set up a proper latrine, and I informed my client that we would be using the bushes for our bathroom, and would go where no man--or woman--has gone before. Hopefully.

Well, she didn't like it, but I simply let nature handle her objections. We had our ritualistic drink at the campfire, and before retiring she needed to "use the facilities," so to speak. I heard her mumble some fine curses as she slipped into the underbrush, and I just assumed that everything was "going" well for her. That is, until I heard some loud grunts that I knew no human could make - not even Ms. Boston.

The bushes rustled like a herd of elephants was coming though. "AHHHH!!! You bastard!" she screamed as I saw her fly though the air. I jumped up and ran to where she had "gone" and suddenly a wild boar zipped past me and out the other side of the camp. I could have sworn he had a smile on his face.

All I can surmise is that she had defecated the boar's favorite sleeping quarters and he was none too pleased at the unceremonious baptism. I spent the next hour bandaging her bruised backside and silently giving that wild boar my undying gratitude.

She never did finish the safari. However, she did leave behind the remainder of that wonderful case of cognac. And I was one happy camper.